


The Sorrows That Women Cause

by Mussimm



Series: Works and Days [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Again, F/M, bottle episode, it's porn time, you've all earned it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mussimm/pseuds/Mussimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven colours post-canon ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

Sansa’s devilish smile as she escorted Brienne into the bedding chamber made the heat rise in Jaime’s cheeks. A man did not need this sort of mocking on his wedding day, though he got it in spades.

“Have fun,” Sansa murmured to Brienne, turning her a matching shade of pink.

Brienne stood awkwardly as the door closed behind her, apparently not knowing where to look or what to do with her trembling hands. Jaime poured her a cup of wine to match his own and held it out to her, his hand shaking as much as hers. She refused to cross the three feet between them.

“No, thank you.”

“Drink the wine, Brienne. Your lord husband commands you. Before you shake apart.”

She did not smile at his jape but took the offered cup. Jaime shucked his coat and started working on the buckles to his golden hand.

Brienne sipped the wine, still rooted in place, still looking anywhere but at him. She gazed around the room and thankfully did not talk about how well-appointed or comfortable it was, nor praise Sansa’s taste nor anything else he could see burgeoning in her mouth to break the silence.

The final buckle gave way and Jaime laid his hand to rest on the table next to the wine. He took another long drink from his cup, trying to focus on anything but how his body vibrated with nerves, before looking back to his bride.

Brienne eyed him warily. He took a step closer to her and she half-missed her mouth with the wine, a drop of red trickling from the side of her mouth.

Jaime cupped her face and wiped the drop away with his thumb, letting his finger rest on her lips. Her eyes were huge and dark and so blue and she trembled like any dainty maiden about to be bedded. She wore his same mix of terror and excitement so well.

Distantly her cup clattered to the floor, forgotten, as she buried her fingers in the fabric of his tunic.

Like riding into battle, he just had to take a few deep breaths and plunge in headfirst.

He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes.  _ Deep breaths. _

Their first taste was hesitant and stuttering, her lips were soft and her breath warm and her hands clenched tightly in his tunic. And it was good. As good as he had ever imagined it being and better, more real.

Jaime grinned against her lips and used his bad arm to wrap around her waist and pull her closer. All the fear in his body turned in an instant to intermingle with the excitement and he was overwhelmed by the joy of it. She was smiling as well, he could feel it. He pressed open mouthed kisses against her obliging smile and tasted sour dornish red and the heat that had kept him alive in the snow.

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth before seizing her lower lip between his teeth.

She laughed and as soon as he released her she returned his attack, one of her hands unclenching from his chest to fist in his hair and keep him close. Jaime let his own hand slip from her hair to start pulling at the laces at the back of her dress.

“I love you,” she breathed and he had never seen her smile so widely. 


	2. Orange

Brienne bit her lip so hard she thought she might have drawn blood. Moans and cries tried to escape her mouth as Jaime touched her, kissed her. Whatever ideas she had over the years that this would be quick, through efficiency or passion, he had quashed. Her body knew what it wanted but she did not, constantly jerking with surprise and biting her lip harder as his mouth laved her earlobe, his hand squeezed her thigh, his teeth nipped at her breast.

She clung to his shoulders with strong hands and tried not to shriek when he took her nipple in his mouth.

She was too hot. Winterfell was warm and their room was bright with fires and candles. They had all the covers pulled back and yet she was far too hot. Her body was not in her control anymore, bowing as she tried to retreat from the overwhelming sensations while at once seeking more of them. He worked some beautiful witchcraft on her, setting her alight and smothering the fire at the same time.

Jaime stroked her inner thigh and she could not stop a whimper from escaping her.

“My lady?” He nudged her jaw with his nose and she opened her eyes to see him hover over her, grinning. “If you don’t make a sound when I take your maidenhead, I will be gravely insulted.”

He urged her thighs apart with caresses so that he could kneel between them. Brienne tried to breathe deeply, her bruised lips parted.

“Jaime…” she moaned.

The intrusion between her legs made her want to buck away and forward again, but instead she let herself cry out. It was all too much, she was going to… to… she didn’t know. Die or pass out or shake apart at the seams.

When he started to push inside her she bit her lip again, the shrill sounds of her own voice muffled. It hurt but it was so much more than that as well. She had no choice but to breathe through the avalanche of sensation, trying to make some sense of it in her own mind. When he had seated himself fully inside her she gasped for breath, wide eyes searching his face.

“Ah, Brienne,” he hissed, all mirth gone from his face. He almost looked in pain. “This will not… I can’t… Brienne…”

If she had ever thought him lovely before that moment she had been a fool. The firelight cast his pale skin orange, agony on his face as he struggled for control, he was beautiful beyond belief like something out of a song, a radiant mosaic wrought on the sept floor.

He leaned forward and her arms spontaneously curled around his shoulders, holding him close and burying her face in his neck. He kissed her cheek and jaw, murmuring comforting nothings as though she wasn’t already far beyond comfort.

He grasped her by the thigh with bruising force and started to move. Tears pricked at her eyes, not from pain but from the devastating strength of it all. She felt him deep inside her, touching something perfect which she had never imagined. With every rush of his body against hers she cried out. She was lost in the press of warm skin against her own, the way he gasped for breath against her ear, the moans as he gripped her tighter.

Brienne squeezed her eyes shut and held onto him, the storm and the anchor in one.

When he cried out and trembled against her, bucked against her again and sighed with profound relief, she thought she might have wept for the beauty of him.


	3. Yellow

Jaime laid a gold dragon between Brienne’s breasts, then a few inches below, and again, leading a trail to her belly button.

Brienne giggled and the shaking of her chest sent the dragons scattering.

“Careful,” he chided. “You’re ruining the Goldroad.”

A blissful smile settled over her face, her eyes closed, golden in the firelight. The pink of her skin and the dark rose that tipped her breasts struck a stark contrast to the pure white sheets they had soiled.

“What are you doing?” she asked without opening her eyes.

He had never seen her smile so much.

“I’m getting you accustomed to gold against your skin.” He rearranged the coins, leading a trail from the dramatic hollow of her neck to the thicket of golden curls between her legs.

“Do you think me so lowborn?”

“You are, compared to us, compared to me.” He kissed her throat beside the coin he had placed there. The yellow gold was dissonant on her skin, too bright where she was pale. Riches could never be her colour, she was above them. She needed steel and all he could give her was mountains of gold.

“Gold will never suit me, Ser Jaime.”

“ _ Ser  _ Jaime?” he asked, incredulous.

“Jaime,” she said with an abashed smile.

“Gold will suit you. Oathkeeper always has. You weren’t made to fit dresses and jewels, Brienne. Those things will be made to fit you, now. Some man in Myr will find the largest sapphire you’ve ever seen and think, ‘this belongs around the neck of the Lady of Casterly Rock.’”

She was so beautiful in this light. Unashamed more than beautiful. Whatever had haunted her was gone, if only for a moment, and she lay bare and proud beside him, still wrapped in the bliss from their lovemaking.

A peal of laughter shook her, disrupting his coins once again. “Maybe I should go back to Tarth.”

“You will,” he said. “We’ll both go there with your heir. The future Evenstar will want to know his seat.”

She grinned at him, but her eyes shone with tears. “I’m not even pregnant yet.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“If you’re not, you will be by sunrise.”

Her blush was radiant and her smile even moreso. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.”

Jaime grinned and leaned over her, scattering the gold dragons across the bed as he held her close. He kissed her mouth, his No Longer Maid of Tarth, and kept kissing until she was moaning with the same desire that boiled inside him.

He grinned against her mouth. “Winter is here, wench. Who knows when the sun will rise again?” 


	4. Green

Jaime pulled Brienne close, their legs intertwined. She didn’t know what to do with herself, sitting upright, entirely exposed to his gaze. He kissed the blush from her face.

She had to learn. Or rather, she had to unlearn all the poison she’d been fed her whole life. When he’d first seen her he’d thought her ugly. She still was, if he removed himself. But she wasn’t. When he looked at that broad face that had heralded every moment of hope in the last decade, the muscular arms that had defended him, the tiny teats that had stirred him to lust at Harrenhal and the long legs that had haunted his dreams since he first saw them – how had he ever found anything but joy in her?

“Touch me,” he whispered.

She did. The good, obedient wife on top of everything else she was. Two hands to his one. He slid his fingers into the curls at the apex of her thighs and tried, one-handed, to give her everything he had. He pushed two fingers inside her and tried his best to satisfy her with that while working his thumb against her bud. To a maid it might have been enough and the way her brow furrowed in concentration told him he was almost enough.

She used both hands. Shy and hesitant, not knowing what to do, but she knew how sweet strokes and caresses felt against bare skin and used it. Jaime jerked against her hands, not caring if he disgraced himself here and now. This, right here, wasn’t about getting an heir on her. He would do plenty of that. This was not about Casterly Rock or Tarth, it was about them.

He would have given anything, in that moment like never before, to have two hands. He needed to show her a woman’s pleasure.

He needed it. For all he was the Lord of Casterly rock, the golden child of Tywin Lannister, he was not good enough for her and if he had to sully her with himself he would at least make her cry to the heavens in ecstasy when he did. Brienne of Tarth deserved a husband who would make her scream her joy of their union.

Her hands were too good and he scooted closer to her until his chin rested on her shoulder, still working his cramping hand, trying to achieve some of the dexterity he needed for the task. Her breath was coming heavy, her lips miming sweet words against his shoulder, but he wanted  _ more _ . She tortured him so effortlessly and he had to put everything he had into just trying to make her feel something. He was green with envy, begging the gods for two hands to bring his wife what she deserved.

He laughed without humour, the sound echoing around the room.

Brienne straightened to look at him, still stroking him in a way that threatened to make the world disappear. “What?”

“Wench, you don’t appreciate what you have,” he growled, and kissed her.

She moaned against his mouth then drew away. “I do. I’ve never been more grateful.”

He kissed her again, mumbling between pecks. “You should have been a septa. No one has ever been more righteous.”

She squeezed him and his mind went blank, only gripped with the thought of getting closer to her.


	5. Blue

Brienne knew the swell and break of the ocean on calm days. It swelled and swelled and swelled and faltered against the shore without ever breaking to the foamy crest of a real wave. She and Galladon had played in it as children, swelling and swelling without ever fearing the break.

Now the swell was infuriating, promising something again and again that it did not deliver.

Brienne gripped the pillow under her head with one hand, the other fisted in Jaime’s hair. He worshipped between her legs, fingers deft and tongue hot like fire.

She was going to go mad, the water swelling but never breaking.

She had heard of this in off-colour tales in Renly’s camp but never understood. Her husband hunched on their bed, his tongue hard at work as though she tasted sweet as honey. She glanced down at him and was torn between embarrassment and excitement. Jaime Lannister’s perfect face obscured by her overgrown pubic hair. It was the most discordant image yet what he was doing did not feel out of sorts in the slightest.

Brienne moaned as he hit some particular spot, inside with his fingers or outside with his tongue she couldn’t tell.

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all but felt that would not be appreciated. In the back of her mind sat an aghast Septa Roelle, sputtering her indignation and that made Brienne want to laugh all the more.

But for the moment she was in that ocean tide. Swelling and swelling.

His name spilled from her lips, again, again.

“Jaime….”

She squeezed his hair tighter until she knew it hurt him. She didn’t care, remember the thrill of his bruising grip as they made love. They were both accustomed to a little pain.

His maimed arm made every attempt to wrap around her hips, as if on instinct more than practical considerations. She raise her hips to let him. She wanted him to hold her. It was all so much and yet not enough and she had no words to tell him.

She brought her hand down from the pillow to squeeze her breast, soothing the ache there. Jaime moaned, watching her.

She just needed…  _ something _ to make the waves break.

Brienne closed her eyes, picturing the blue waters of Tarth. Swell and break. Swell and break.

She pictured Jaime walking her through the great hall of Evenfall. She pictured him taking her to the Lord’s chambers. She pictured him laying her out on the bed there and fucking her for all he was worth.

She imagined them, in that bed, the rise and fall of him, the feeling as he buried himself in her again and again. His fingers inside her were enough to imitate it. It was faster, more manic than the ocean, but the feeling was the same. She felt his cock as he thrust into her until she was full.

Brienne moaned with more intent now, almost a squeal. The waves rose higher and higher. His mouth felt so good.

“Jaime,” she panted, “don’t stop.”

He groaned against her sex, the feeling vibrating through her. She dropped her head to the pillow and closed her eyes.

The waves swelled and swelled, bigger and bigger until she was sure they had to crash against the shore.

A wail was torn from her throat against her will. It was about to break. Almost… almost…

Brienne shrieked as her body bowed, the waves crashing against her again and again, the dunking surf that would drown her if she let it. She clutched at his hair until she felt strands beginning to come loose and still she whimpered and cried and twisted against him.


	6. Indigo

The world outside had long since disappeared for Jaime. He was having enough trouble taming the storm in his bed without worrying about anything else. Brienne sat astride him, shifting her weight to find a comfortable position, apparently unaware that every twitch of her bear-trap of a cunt around him threatened to snap his self-control. If she didn’t find her balance soon he was going to tackle her and fuck her senseless.

With an uncertain twitch of her lips she leaned forward and grasped the headboard with both hands. Jaime stroked her raised ribs, encouraging her to move before the dull roar in the back of his mind overcame him. She rocked her hips experimentally and he panted, “Wench, you’re going to kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, anxiety in her eyes. “Am I too heavy?”

“No, you’re torturing me. Either fuck me or roll over so I can fuck you.”

Brienne bit down on a smile and rocked her hips again. Jaime moaned and fought hard against his need to buck up into her. He was aching for her, heart thundering in his ears, and if she didn’t stop teasing him he was never going to last as long as he wanted.

Her smug smile at his position both pleased and infuriated him, but before he could say anything she stopped playing with him and he couldn’t speak anymore. She quickly found a punishing rhythm that pleased her. A surge of lightning shot through him in the satisfying slam of her body against his and he flung his head back against the pillow. She had no mercy, it was too much, too soon.

“Gods, Brienne,” he gasped. “Yes, like that… please…”

He desperately wanted to close his eyes against the sensation, but she was such a sight. The muscles of her arms and shoulders raised, face screwed up in concentration, his pink love bites about her neck and indigo bruises mottling her body. The same marks he wore, prizes won in combat. He chased the ripples along her leg with his hand, the interplay of muscles he had admired so often on display for him.

Brienne redoubled her efforts, the headboard cracking against the stone behind it and all Jaime could do was grab her by the hip and hold on for dear life. Gods, she was  _ strong _ . Her thighs crushed his hips and her hands would surely have broken him if she had chosen to touch him. He could do nothing save for moan and pant and beg her not to stop. 

He should never have married a Stormlands girl, she was going to take a decade off his life in this room. Had he known what it was like to be claimed by a knight he might have done it years ago and not lived to see this day.

He had to close his eyes, had to do anything to hold out a little longer. His whole body was tense and coiled and ready to explode and she was just starting to make the breathy little whimpers that told him she was close.

“Please… please…” he begged. “Gods you feel  _ good _ … I can’t…”

The sounds she made resonated through him like thunder over Shipbreaker Bay. She was tightening impossibly more around him and he simply couldn’t hold out anymore. His back arched and he cried out, spots bursting behind his eyes as the storm took him. The spasm that ripped through her as she peaked sustained it for him, making him jerk and twitch underneath her with each aftershock until he was a helpless wreck.

“Brienne…” he breathed.

She gave him his new favourite smile, drenched in joy and sated arrogance, eyes as blue as calm waters.


	7. Violet

Brienne had never been so tired or so happy, her head on Jaime’s chest, his hand tracing lazy circles on her back. The blankets were snug and the fire crackled merrily and her husband was so warm beside her, she’d finally chased away the chill of winter.

“What will his sigil be?” Jaime said.

“Hmm?”

“Our son’s. Our second son’s.” Jaime’s voice reverberated in his chest under her ear, joining the comforting  _ thump thump _ of his heart. “The Evenstar can’t have Lannister colours. Cersei’s children had the stag and lion combatant. Lancel quartered his sigil with Darry’s.”

“A lion trying to fight the heavens,” Brienne said. “Mayhaps that should be your sigil.”

She stifled a yawn into his chest, drowsily playing with his chest hair with one hand.

“He could quarter our colours, have red and azure and rose.”

He would not be flattered if she fell asleep while he was musing about ugly house arms, but soon she would have no choice but to offend him.

“Violet,” she sighed. “A yellow lion and white sun on a violet field.”

“Mm, that does sound better. Though who will take our son seriously when he rides into battle with a purple cloak?”

“They take the knight of the flowers seriously. And it would suit a daughter.”

Jaime chuckled. “We will have far too many sons for a daughter to inherit Tarth. What do you think? Blue eyes or green? Tanned or freckled?”

“Healthy,” she managed to whisper. “And long lived.”

Two little boys in red and purple hitting each other with sticks in a training yard, one freckled, one green eyed, one white blond and the other yellow. The future lords of Tarth and The Rock. They might even grow taller than their parents, her father had a height on her.

Brienne smothered a grin against Jaime’s chest, imagining him surrounded by teenagers each a hand taller than him.

“And our first daughter will be Lady Commander of the Queensguard.”

Brienne shook with laughter. “Shall we have another and send her to the Wall? I’m not even pregnant.”

“You are. Or do I need to try again?”

“Mercy, please,” she mumbled, still laughing.

Jaime stroked her hair, cradling her closer to him. “Sleep, sweetling. You’ll need your rest if you’re to be mother to two lords and two lady commanders.”

She closed her eyes, still smiling. The motion of his fingers in her hair and the  _ thump thump _ of his heart and the promises of everything yet to come lulled her finally off to a peaceful sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over!
> 
> Thanks everyone for sticking it out, this really turned into something much bigger than I'd imagined and I wouldn't have kept it going without so much support and goading.
> 
> Special thanks to my regulars: nahiddles, Lena_G, IsisBalamia, coolhandjenny, DanyeIN, iluvaqt, Jades, WeirdDaydreamingFangirl, RosanaB and LAuralina (and anyone I missed I'm very sorry.
> 
> Special extra thanks to my longform regulars who I live for: workingonacocktail, Lady_In_Red, GumTree and tamjlee.
> 
> And of course a triple special extra thanks to my amazing beta LaSwabbie who kept this all on track <3
> 
> Something new will be coming just the second uni slows down.


End file.
